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<title>Heart On His Sleeve (Instead of Cufflinks) by IsItInkOrIsItBlood</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848574">Heart On His Sleeve (Instead of Cufflinks)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsItInkOrIsItBlood/pseuds/IsItInkOrIsItBlood'>IsItInkOrIsItBlood</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Reflections On Paper And Skin [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Fluff, Hannibal (TV) Season/Series 01, Hannibal Lecter Has a Crush, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Slice of Life, Vulnerable Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:00:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>762</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsItInkOrIsItBlood/pseuds/IsItInkOrIsItBlood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Lecter packs for his first trip with the FBI and indulges in his feelings. </p><p>Also, the moment he decides to bring Will breakfast.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Reflections On Paper And Skin [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heart On His Sleeve (Instead of Cufflinks)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebloodbruise/gifts">bluebloodbruise</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he is alone Dr. Lecter is easy and free with his delight. He hums a bright, sweet tune as he packs for his first trip with the FBI. </p><p>His fingers brush the shoulders of colorful dress shirts and soft cashmere, indulgent and amused with himself. </p><p>He shuts his eyes and there is Will Graham's face; wary, sardonic, abrasive for the sake of it. Even wearing distaste and distrust as armor he is beautiful. </p><p>What will he like? What will make the ever uncomfortable boy exhale? </p><p>Dr. Lecter cautions himself. It isn't about what Will would like. Will doesn't let himself <em>enjoy</em> things. Dr. Lecter generally presents himself to be enjoyed, but this is not a general situation. Will would reject his usual manner and apparel. It is simply too much to hope for him to be breath-taken, broken open or inspired with beauty.  </p><p>"Something softer, I think' Dr. Lecter sighs to himself. </p><p>He takes out a tan sweater, beige jacket, and sable trousers. His nose crinkles. It's something he'd choose when he felt unwell. That was, in fact, the last time he'd worn this ensemble. Dr. Lecter doesn't leave the house on those black days. When the world tints grey with despair he cancels his patients and retreats to his bedroom. These are retreating clothes.</p><p>Perhaps that is appropriate. He's capturing a retreating man. </p><p>He takes a steadying breath and shakes his head, lets the smile bloom across his face again. He will not let one bleak day taint these clothes. At least he managed to dress that day. </p><p>
  <em>He is not retreating. </em>
</p><p>He is nervous, he is hopeful. It feels light and hot and dangerous. It delights him. </p><p>What does Will Graham <em>see</em>? It is so much, but what exactly? </p><p>He indulges in daydreams as he counts out pairs of socks and underwear, selects tomorrow's trousers, hooks a pale blue shirt on his little finger and lifts it from its hanger with a flick of the wrist. </p><p>He snatches a tie from an open drawer and rethinks, replaces it. It's too much. He's too much. This is ridiculous and he is absurd. </p><p>He deposits his armload of clothes on the bed and begins to dress, wondering at himself.</p><p>What would Will Graham think if he could see Hannibal undone with delight and possibility and know he is the cause? </p><p>"To impact such a creature as I..." He doesn't finish the sentence, just lets it trail off with a slow shake of his head and a closed-eyed smile. </p><p>He tries to stand up straight and still, strike the grin from his face. He is a grown man, and he must compose himself. </p><p>Laughter burbles out the edges of his play at composure and he sags onto the bed. His shirt is unbuttoned one button too far, his hair falls boyishly in his face. </p><p>"You will be the end of me, Will Graham."</p><p>Only the suit of armor listens. </p><p>He stands and steps towards the door, pirouetting across the room, relishing the slip of his socks across the plush carpet. He does this often, but this time he feels unbearably light, luminous and fragile and transparent. </p><p>"And so it will be." His own voice sounds strange and bell-like in his ears. </p><p>***</p><p>Dr. Lecter leans against his kitchen counter sipping coffee and looking askance at the cold, empty stovetop. His travelling cookware is packed into a second valise nearly as large as his clothes bag. His cooler is full. He has cooked nothing. He isn't hungry. It is quite irregular.</p><p>It should bother him, but it doesn't. He is pleased with his own effusiveness. Truth be told, he thought such bouyancy was a product of youth long lost to him. He will be sad to button it away, but he will not show his soft underbelly to the vulgus mobuli and the prickly pointed prying FBI. </p><p>He's already showing so much softness. He is going out without his armor, his colors and silks home alone in the darkness of his closet. Instead of cufflinks his heart is on his sleeve.</p><p>He feels exposed. It should bother him, but it doesn't. </p><p>Dr. Lecter takes the last sip of his coffee and eyes the bottom of the cup with a raised brow. "No breakfast today, it seems. My appetite is elsewhere." </p><p>His voice is echoey and wistful in the empty kitchen. He has forgotten to play music. </p><p>His eyebrows shoot up beneath his fringe, lips part so slightly. He will chase his appetite to where it has fled. Tomorrow he will bring Will Graham breakfast.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm a novelist who has lost their spark. I'm hunting for it in my favorite characters. Maybe it's in Hannibal's eye? </p><p>Kudos and comments are much appreciated.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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